GunJam: A What If? Story
by ronnierocketAGO
Summary: [THE WARRIORS] What if the life of Cyrus is spared when Luther's gun jams?
1. Chapter 1

**_GUNJAM: A What If? Tale_**

**_Submitted for your approval, I give you this story that isn't about possibilities or consequences of actions that never take place. It's a story that ultimately is about the chain reaction of life being dictated by the succession of choices being made, and actions being committed. _**

_**Could a city's history change dramatically with one small change of luck?**_

Within the massive crowd of over a thousand boppers, representing over 200 gang outlets, a member of the Rogues is pulling up his blue jeans.

A .357 Magnum revolver is taped to the Rogue's calf.

He rips the taped-gun off his leg, grinding his teeth to keep quiet from the brief intense pain of the tape pulling hairs from his calf. He passes it to the hand of another Rogue. Then another, then another, then another…

Meanwhile, the would-be messiah is working his magic over the boppers in the park. They're silently eating from the fingers of Cyrus.

"The problem in the past has been the man turning us on one another. We have been unable to see the truth because we have been fighting for ten square feet of ground…Our turf…Our little piece of turf…That's sht, brothers, because its OUR turf…"

A final Rogue hand takes the gun, and grips hard on the handle. He lifts it up in the air and spins the chamber. Let him just lock eyes with Cyrus…

"The turf is our by right because its our turn. They kept us on the bottom long enough, centuries and centuries, and centuries…All we got to do is stick together. We keep up with the general truce. We take over one borough at a time, secure our territory. Secure our turf…Because it's ALL our turf!"

Cyrus looks deep into the crowd. He's got them. He has a united Army of the Night. He catches sight of a white man in Rogue gear with a gun aimed at his direction. Cyrus holds his breath.

Luther locks eyes with Cyrus. Party time.

Click

What the hell?

Click Click

Luther looks at his gun and is in deep shock. The Magnum is jammed. He keeps pressing the trigger, but nothing is happening. He looks back at Cyrus.

The Fox catches Luther aiming the piece at Cyrus and trying to fire.

"GUN!!!!"

The other boppers in that part of the crowd immediately turn heads at Fox's shriek of a desperate cry, along with Luther.

Fox was the man full of street Intel data for the Warriors as a Scout, but never a brainiac for Coney. He wasn't using his wits right now as he jumps on Luther.

A scuffle breaks out. The outright force from Fox's collision with Luther makes the hit man lose his finger tips on the trigger.

The other Rogues try to step in to aide their leader, but now the boppers in that area of the crowd instead, by instinct, jump into the fray. The Rogues only realize until its too late that they're cornered immediately 30 bodies to their 9.

The rest of the hundreds of boppers in the crowd either rush in the direction of the point of chaotic origin, or are confused. The Gramercy Riff cartel step into action. The bodyguards surround and enclose Cyrus in safety on his podium. The scores of Riff soldiers run into the brawl occurring.

But that doesn't help The Fox. He's in a death brawl with Luther.

Fox doesn't know why he's fighting for his life right now to stop this grease ball. But it must for _something_…

Luther gets his grip back on his gun. The Fox has a death grip on Luther's gun hand.

3 Rogues are down on the ground as the boppers continue beating them to a bloody end. Its now 70 against 6.

Cleon and the rest of the Warriors expedition realize that The Fox is missing. In the confused and now panicking hordes of boppers, they march through the bodies to find their comrade.

A Rogue falls and a steel-tipped boot bashes his skull in. 85 against 4.

The Fox and Luther slowly get up, still wrestling each other. With whatever extra strength is left in his bones, The Fox drives Luther through the crowd, still fighting him for the gun. The boppers beating up the dying Rogues scramble out of the firearm's way.

They're now in the open. Luther thrust kicks The Fox in the knee, forcing him to fall to the grass. Luther aims his revolver at him, and cocks it again. Maybe he can waste somebody today after all…

A bullet brutally blasts through Luther's back and exists through his chest, blood and bits of organs fly out into the open. Parts of Luther's left lung splash onto The Fox's face. The crowds run in fearful of panic of this gunfire.

He loses some control of his body, but he still tries to aim at The Fox's direction…

The second and third bullets are fired simultaneously. The second bullet smacks into Luther's back, and collides into his spine and breaks it. Thankfully, the third bullet spares Luther an agonizingly slow death when it pierces through the back of his skull. Luther's last thought for his life as the bullet lodges violent through his brain was simple. "This hurts-"

The lifeless corpse falls over as the boppers try to flee in every direction.

The Fox is in trauma of a person being blown to bits in front of him. After the body collapsed, Fox could see the Gramercy Riff patrolmen with their own revolvers, smoke still blowing from them. They were packed at the conclave?

His other immediate thought was, they were aiming at him. Uh oh.

Then bright white lights flash upon the scene, blinding Fox, the Riff patrolmen, and he other boppers trying to escape. They knew who it was before a booming voice echoed from the horn.

"It's the Police! Surrender-"

Fox used this opportunity to try to run, but the Riffs grab him and haul him away. Fox yells as loud as his vocal chords could birth, but he's its useless. Everyone has gone apesit and the police are laying the clampdown real hard on all the boppers. Fox tries to peer through the crowded sea of madness for his fellow brothers of Coney.

Then one of the Riffs straps a black hood over Fox's head, and he is blinded in darkness. The next thing he knows, he is thrown inside some sort of car, and it drives off in the ragefull fury of speed….

To be Continued


	2. The Aftermath pt 1

**_Chapter Two_**

They tried to hunt for their missing comrade, but the Warriors were forced to hastily retreat from the conclave. The invading swarms of boys in blue were arresting and clubbing any chump that was unfortunate enough to be left behind.

With the mayhem that broke out, Cleon wasn't sure if the general city-wide truce was still valid or not. Forced to leave their trusty scout behind, the Warriors had to carefully sneak and slink around for a few city blocks until they came to a subway station.

As this expedition of delegates waited for their train ride over to Union Station, Cleon looked over his soldiers. They're all worried and worn down, except for maybe Ajax who doesn't miss the Fox's presence. Thankfully, Cleon doesn't have to depend on Ajax for morale or actual leadership skills. He's the careless destructive wrecking ball.

Cleon catches notice of Swan starring dead ahead, and Cleon turns his head. No wonder Swan's eyes are locked.

The Punks expedition is down the subway platform, waiting for their transportation back to Union. They're staring back at Coney's Finest.

Cleon broke off eye-contact and went up to Conchise. "Any news from the station?"

Conchise held the transistor radio tightly against his ear. "No news of anything from the Voice, so far. It's the same stuff we've heard for the last few hours: Fuzz, bashed heads, cuffs."

"Alright, report immediately of anything significant." Cleon noticed that they had 15 minutes before the train would be here. He walked back Swan, his second-in-command.

"I'm going over to the Punks to see what they know of what happened. Don't flex muscle unless I say so, got it?"

"What if they try to jump you?"

"Unless we hear otherwise, the truce is still on and we will honor it."

Somehow, Ajax had walked up behind the Warlord without Cleon's notice.

"Why don't we just trash them now? They'll try to jump us at Union, their turf-"

"You won't do sit Ajax. Stay with the others. They'll honor the truce. Nobody wants to be the jackass that breaks it."

Cleon reaches into his vest pocket and pulled out a white cloth. He flashes it into obvious view as he calmly scrolled over to the rival outfit. The seven Punks don't move or say anything, but stare back at him and his white flag of safety.

Cleon is nervous, but he doesn't show it.

"Who is your Warlord?"

The tallest of the brood steps forward. "I am Sanders; I'm the Warlord"

Here goes nothing.

Cleon dropped his white cloth. "I'm Cleon, Warlord for the Warriors at Coney Island. Do you know what happened at the conclave?"

Sanders is remote in his emotions. "You don't have a transistor with you? The station should know."

"No, the station doesn't know anything. What do you know?"

"We didn't see what happened, but we heard murmurs and screams that somebody had a gun and people were fighting him for it. By the time that brawl got out of hand, the gunshots were fired and we hauled ass. That was 2 hours ago."

Sanders crossed his arms across his chest.

"Two of our own got left behind. You happen to see what happened to them?"

Cleon slightly relaxed. "I saw one, with a pink shirt-"

"Maddox"

"Well, I saw 3 blue boys chasing him, and he was running his legs off. Don't know any more of your own. One of my soldiers got left behind too."

Sanders looked at his company of soldiers. "Did anyone see a red-vested Warrior in the part of the park we were at?" They shake their heads.

"The Riffs were all over the site of the fight, and then the cops came."

Cleon seemed satisfied. "All right, thanks." Sanders was unresponsive. Cleon almost forgot to ask.

"By the way, is the truce still on?"

"Unless we hear otherwise, its truce still holds."

Cleon nodded his head, and walked off back to his Warriors.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fox is blinded in darkness, but he knows he is in some sort of moving car, probably a van, that is going to a mysterious destination. The then stopped and strong arms grab and yank him out.

"Where am I? What you doing-"

"Shut up" boomed the strong black voice belonging to the muscle that was holding his right side firmly. Fox only remembered that he seemed to walk forever before being pushed into some sort of room. As soon as they yanked the black hood from his head, they locked the door behind him. He's trapped.

Fox considered yelling for his captors to let him go, but what's the use? No windows, nothing in this room save for an old worn out, totally abused bed mattress on the floor. Next to it included a half-working light lamp and some oldpornographic black-themed magazines. He sits on the bed. He quietly prays to God that the inevitable blood, urine, and semen stains on such a mattress don't infect him in any way. He takes his vest off, uses it as a temp pillow under his head, and he falls to sleep.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This is The Station, and we've got the latest on the chaos at the conclave from late last night. As the Riffs have demanded that we repeat over and over for the last 6 hours, the truce is still in effect, and expects no boppers to break it. The truce has been officially extended for another 24 hours or up through tonight at midnight.

There were unconfirmed reports coming into The Station minutes after the boys in blue crashed the party that the mayhem started when some bopper waved a gun in the air, as a subsequent fight erupted from it. But 3 hours after the conclave breakup, the Gramercy Riffs announced in communiqué that a gunman and his gang, unnamed as of yet, attempted to assassinate Cyrus last night, but failed. The Riffs won't announce the name of the gang responsible for this failed assassination, but we expect to hear from them immediately after the Riffs security force have investigated and effectively deal with the problem.

It is 7 in the morning, but the NYPD released a statement an hour ago that numerous boppers were arrested last night for illegal loitering…"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The violently loud air horn scares The Fox from his sleep.

He sees that 4 Riffs, armed with AK-47s and varying forms of handguns, are in the room right now. The apparent leader of this squad with the air horn silently motions The Fox to get to his feet immediately. As soon as he does, the Riffs put the black hood over Fox's head again.

"Suckah, you dare try anything stupid, your comrades won't ever know what happened to you. Got it?"

The Fox has no choice but to nod his head.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The hood is pulled from his head, and what Fox sees startles him. Whatever this urban structure (or is it underground?) was before, this particular room has been converted into a very nice kitchen/dining room. The centerpiece is a large circle dining table, with what appeared to be several highly-decorate senior officers of the Riffs were having a conference meeting of some sort while eating a meal.

Several more Riff soldiers that escorted Fox were in the room as well, apparently the heart of the Riff kingdom, and were packed with enough firepower for a war.

No, they're not why The Fox is speechless. It's because Cyrus is sitting at the table, and is looking at him. The "President" of the biggest and baddest gang in New York City interrupts the discussion he was holding with his officers.

"Brothers, we need to continue our meeting later. Please leave me, for I need a talk with this prisoner."

**To be continued Soon Enough!**


End file.
